


The Onslaught of Victor Nikiforov

by bluesaliva



Series: Like Real People Do [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, First Kiss, Introspection, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, in which i headcanon that victor is a very touchy-feely guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:43:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesaliva/pseuds/bluesaliva
Summary: How was Yuri supposed to focus with his idol - no a god - who was so keen on touching him that he could barely think straight?Or, in which I headcanon that Victor is touchy-feely, and Yuri doesn't know how to handle it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> really this idea came bc in screaming about episode 2 of yuri on ice, i tagged something as "the onslaught of victor nikiforov" and i couldn't get it out of my head so i had to write something for it.
> 
> but seriously if these two don't become canon in the next 2.5 i will quit.
> 
> so take this here fic and i hope you enjoy it lol.  
> hit me up on tumblr @ haitoku-no-kioku

When Yuri ~~agreed~~ , no, was _coerced_ into letting Victor coach him (not that Yuri would’ve said no, to be fair; this was _Victor Nikiforov_ after all - the best figure skater in the world right now, and his _idol_ \- he would be a damn idiot to let an opportunity like this slip through his fingers), he wasn’t sure what to expect. Sure, he admired Victor, however, he didn’t know Victor very well outside of the person that he saw on television. From what he gathered from watching his current performances, interviews, and many, many, _many_ reruns, Victor was a god on the ice. His expressions were flawless, his moves were executed without hesitation, and with the confidence that only a truly seasoned skater such as himself could apprehend. Yuri wished that he could only possess a _shred_ of that presence that Victor exuded so exquisitely effortlessly; only a drop would be enough to conquer the world, Yuri was positively convinced. He could be cordial, he could be polite; Victor was always free with his winks and charm, so much so that Yuri had witnessed men and women alike swooned by his very princely presence, even worse when he actually began _talking_ . His airy Russian and his sweetly accented English made Yuri feel weak in the knees, and to find that he also knew Japanese, was a treasure that made Yuri melt every time he heard it. There was nothing quite like hearing his mother tongue slip past those perfect, soft, delectable lips. Really, Yuri tried not to find Victor so… Perfect, after all, he did realize that he was a _human_ of however perfect proportions. Unfortunately, that reminder every time he found himself getting too carried away with his thoughts that he wasn’t a celestial being was almost always dismissed.

 

So the real problem became, how was Yuri supposed to interact with a god? A god, and an idol, who was so incessantly _keen_ on touching him that Yuri couldn’t keep his thoughts straight for more than five flipping seconds!

 

It started out… Small. At least, by comparison to what happened _after_ their first, real encounter. After Victor had so vehemently declared that he would become Yuri’s coach at his family’s onsen that day, he’d almost immediately passed out from the heat. Yuri wasn’t sure how long that Victor stayed in, however, he thought he’d heard somewhere that Russians had a lower tolerance to heat since they lived in Russia, after all. Yuri couldn’t remember, nor pronounce, the place that Victor’s bio said he grew up in - all he really remembered that it was somewhere close to Siberia, and coincidentally one of the coldest _habitable_ places on the planet. Maybe that’s why he was such a natural on the ice. He’d practically been birthed in it.

 

Nevertheless, it was Yuri’s job to haul a heat-exhausted, exuberant, and slightly _drunk_ Victor Nikiforov back inside the inn. And what a way to start off this student-mentor relationship with having indecent thoughts about all of the places his new coach’s dripping wet, hard-muscled body was pressed against his own. Victor had thrown one arm over Yuri’s shoulder when he finally went to help him out of the bath, and had leaned in close, washing Yuri’s nostrils with a sharp, minty fresh scent that left his mind _reeling_ . Victor’s perfect, ski slope nose brushed aside the bangs that curled around his ears, nuzzling into him for a moment, before finally whispering _“Thank you, Yuri_ . _”_ against his beet red skin.

 

Yuri dreamt about it all night when he was finally allowed to amble off into bed. He couldn’t get the feeling of supple, soft lips pressing into the junction of his ear and neck out of his head enough to sleep properly.

 

From that moment on, the touches were more subtle. Yuri gathered that Victor was just a generally very touchy _person_ , just by observing him while he was talking with others and not just him. Whenever he talked to his mother, there was sure to be one large hand touching her head or her shoulder at nearly all times. When he talked with his father, he kept it to a nice, friendly shoulder brush or pat on the arm. Minako and Victor especially warmed up to one another _especially_ when drunk, and Yuri cried crocodile tears at how the two of them draped over each other like curtains, laughing and giggling like school girls and almost breaking half of the tables in their inn with their ambient laughter and excited palm slams down onto the tables. The triplets always kept Victor occupied, and latched onto his legs and arms when he was around, and he welcomed their excitement by easily scooping all three of them into his arms whenever he had the chance to - momentarily distracting them from their paparazzi exploits. Yuko screamed every time Victor touched her hand, which was frankly too often to warrant that response anymore, but Yuri would do the same thing if he didn’t have a small shred of pride and need to impress Victor weighing on his shoulders. Takeshi took a bit to warm up to the friendly nature of Victor’s touches, but even he finally caved, and the two of them slapped each other way too hard on the back sometimes, particularly after Yuko had another excited fit over his poise and grace (though she assured Takeshi that she loved him most of all, it seemed irrelevant with Victor standing next to them, encouraging her declarations of love with a friendly hand on her back. Yuri supposed he couldn’t blame her, and wished that maybe Victor read situations better - or chose to stop ignoring them).

 

But the touches that Victor left on Yuri’s skin were much different.

 

They never settled immediately. With anyone else, Victor was as sure as he was on the ice, and confidently touched their head, their hand, their back, etc., and even if he was shrugged off, he laughed it off and never felt deterred. After the night that he first arrived and Yuri (embarrassingly) backed away from his sudden onslaught of touches; his wrist, his arm, his neck, his chin, Victor had been more careful about where he touched. More sparing. Sometimes, he brushed the hair from Yuri’s eyes when he was concentrating. He left featherlight fingers on his shoulder when he wanted his attention. He tapped Yuri’s fingers with his own playfully when they sat across from each other over the inn’s low tables, accompanying the gentle brush of his knees against his own when they sat seiza style across from one another. And Yuri melted into it, melted like butter and sweet chocolate, swirling faster and harder into the depths of these uncharted waters of Victor Nikiforov like the spiraling snow that still fell outside of his window.

 

But he was still skittish when Victor’s touches got too bold. When he settled his hand on the small of Yuri’s back to guide him outside first, after courteously holding open the door for him. Yuri seized up, far too aware of the heat that was seeping into his spine, and a frown had pulled over Victor’s face, almost like a pout.

 

“You’re still scared of me...” He sighed. He removed his hand from it’s place on his back, taking its heat with it, and Yuri tried not to let his shoulder’s slump in disappointment, and tried to hold back his shiver from the sudden cold that rushed in to take it’s place. “I’m… I’m not _scared_ of you Victor- I just-”

“Then… You don’t like me touching you?” Victor supplied, with a questioning tilt of his head. That was not the correct answer it _wasn’t_ , and Yuri didn’t know _how_ to tell Victor that he, in fact, wanted to be touched - wanted it so desperately that when it happened he sort of forgot how to act. That wasn’t anything new, really. He’d always been awkward, always been shy. The fact that he hadn’t already dissipated into a pile of sentient goo was a miracle within itself.

 

“No! No- no.” Yuri said it too quickly, and sucked in a sharp breath when Victor’s breathtaking ice blue eyes settled on him once again. There was some complex emotion that Yuri couldn’t name hidden within their depths, and he wondered what it meant, as he’d never seen Victor give anyone _this_ look before. What did it - no what _could_ it mean? Yuri thought he may be looking too far into this. He cleared his throat at Victor’s expectant gaze.

 

“No I… I like it when you touch me Victor…” His face continued to get redder and redder, never mind the fact that what he just said could easily be mistaken for a euphemism but he was embarrassed enough as it was. “I’m just… Not used to it… Yet…” _I idolize you after all_. Those were the words that went unsaid, but Yuri wasn’t sure that Victor heard them. He hummed thoughtfully, used one slender finger to tap at his chin, then he returned his eyes to Yuri, and the were sparkling grandiosely.

 

“Then I should touch you more, right? So you can get used to me!”

 

Yuri wasn’t sure that he’d set himself up with ticket to heaven or just got on a one way, all expense paid trip to the depths of sexually frustrated _hell_.

 

But he truly, was not prepared, for the onslaught that was Victor Nikiforov when he has explicit permission to touch you _more_.

 

Soft, careful touches morphed into full on lingering contact. Victor used any and every excuse to sidle up to Yuri’s side. Whenever they walked somewhere, their arms were constantly brushing. Victor stopped sitting on the opposite side of the table, and instead began to sit next to him, so he could wrap an arm _tightly_ around his waist when he wasn’t busy using it to stuff his face with katsudon or whatever else his mother placed in front of them. He poked at his belly when it began to get too fat, and once even blew a raspberry on it when they were playfully joking around - something that did all _kinds_ of things to Yuri’s crumbling self-control and psyche. Just the feel of those soft lips that he’d been dreaming about for months now, suddenly pressed against any part of his body had his mind spinning, wondering if he’d fallen into a stress induced coma after the Grand Prix and was merely dreaming. Because there was no way that this was real life. Yuri Katsuki’s real life didn’t consist of Victor Nikiforov’s hands all over him. It didn’t consist of Victor joining him in the onsen and offering to wash his back. It didn’t consist of those smooth, graceful hands trailing reverently down the column of his neck, nor did it have the rights to Victor’s sinfully smooth voice whispering down his cheek, “You do clean up nicely, little piglet…” Yuri was sure that he was encroaching on copyright _infringement_ of some teenage or middle-aged woman’s fantasy, when he felt Victor’s beautiful, caring, always sure hands slide down from his cheeks to cradle his hips between them and pulling them flush against his body. It didn’t--

 

“Yuri~” Victor hummed, too close for Yuri to even dream of breathing properly. “You’re thinking too much again. Let’s try it again, from the top.” Yuri nodded, and motioned to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, to only push at empty air when he realized he’d taken them off for skating. Victor let out a soft chuckle watching him, then released him and glided back over towards the outer edges of the Hasetsu ice rink. Yuri took in a deep breath, cleared his thoughts, and began to glide once again. Being on the ice always calmed him. Even in the worst of his panics, he knew he could always come here and be cleansed. He steadied the beating of his heart as he concentrated then leapt, rotating once, twice, three, no - four times, just as he’d done when he’d been mimicking Victor’s piece months prior. A quadruple salchow. He landed and skated it off. Executed flawlessly.

 

Clapping caught Yuri’s attention, and he slowly slid to a stop, watching as Victor skated towards him, stopping just before him. He had to tilt his head back to get a good look into his eyes, and Yuri narrowed his own to try and see him better, curse his less than perfect eyesight.

 

“ _Bravo_ , Yuri.” Victor praised, and suddenly he was in his space again. Yuri’s breath hitched when a strong arm reached forward and wrapped around his waist, tugging him so close that the blades of their skates banged together and almost sent him off balance. Victor’s free hand came up to cup his cheek, tracing his thumb fondly over his somewhat squishy cheekbones, simultaneously brushing some of his dark black locks out of his face with his deft fingers.

 

“Every time I see it, it still stirs something inside of me.”

“Well, you flatter me, Victor. But it’s still your move after-”

 

A pair of soft lips cut off the rest of his sentence, and all of Yuri’s thoughts died when he realized that Victor Nikiforov’s - his idol, prince and god of the skating realm - pretty, soft lips, were pressed gently against his own.

 

If he hadn’t short circuited before, this would definitely be the time to now.

 

He stood perfectly still like a stone statue when Victor pulled away moments later, and stared, wide eyed like a deer caught in headlights when a soft smile blossomed onto Victor’s face.

 

“... All…” Victor laughed, brushing his thumb across Yuri’s lips and making his already red face turn redder. “I knew you’d look so cute after this~” He cooed. “My sweet little piglet.” Despite it all, the hold Victor had on his waist hadn’t let up, in fact it got stronger, and Yuri was sure if he could’ve pulled him closer, by god he would’ve, and he didn’t know how to handle this information. He looked down from Victor’s eyes, to those perfect pink lips, and realize with a start that he wasn’t startled. No… In fact, he wanted to taste those lips again.

 

So mid sentence, very much out of character compared to the bumbling shy and stuttering Yuri that Victor was used to, Yuri reached up and tugged Victor down mid-sentence, and slammed their lips back together - with much more heady need and desire that Victor had previously given in their first kiss.

  
And that day that Yuri Katsuki finally overcame _some_ of his emotions over Victor’s touch, was the day that Victor Nikiforov suddenly became aware of the onslaught of Yuri Katsuki, when provoked.


End file.
